Split
by MelodyMirage
Summary: Christine can have Raoul during the day... and Erik during the night. It's that simple. Mostly E/C, but dark-ish and not fluffy. CO-WRITTEN with bwayphantomrose.
1. The Marriage

**Here is my very first story! Hurrah!**

**This is being posted only because bwayphantomrose, who is like the best big sister I never had, is making me post it. She's co-writing it with me, so this is just as much her story as it is mine. Plus, she lets me come to her apartment and jump on her bed! Yay! So, this is dedicated to her.**

**I guess this is mostly Leroux-based. It's pretty dark, not fluffy. I enjoy the darker romance of Erik and Christine, and think it's much more fun to read than their instant happy ending. There's always a conflict. That's my motto. ;-)**

**Anyway, enjoy! Review for my first story, please?**

**....**

Today, I have made my choice. I stand before the man I have chosen, and he smiles down upon me, his hand held out as I step the final step and face the priest before me.

Raoul stands in pale blue, a color I chose for him, a color that brings out the lighter blonde streaks in his hair and the creamy color of the ocean in his eyes. His hand is not nearly as sweaty as mine is, sheathed in white lace that covers my fingertips to my toes.

Everything is how I wanted it. It is just after midday, so that streams of spectacular light shine through the stained glass windows over the pews. The flowers I chose are pink and yellow, and the ribbons covering every decorative surface are a shiny hue of crystal white. With Raoul in his blue sailor's outfit, and I in the white dress, we are the perfect picture of cheeriness.

I tell you, it is _perfect._

Everything is said appropriately. Everything is planned, to the last little hesitation before the final vows. I make sure to exaggerate every word, so that there is nothing but faith and trust in every utterance of my love.

Afterwards, Raoul and I walk hand in hand down the aisle, while everyone claps and smiles. We stay outside to celebrate, where a small tent has been put up for us. I dance, first with Raoul, and then with his father, and then with his niece, and then with his cousin… It seems that I dance with everyone in his family and every one of his friends, laughing and chatting all the while.

I bask in every minute of it, flushing when appropriate, telling all how happy and blessed I am, bubbling with romantic whims at every turn.

When the sun starts to go down in the late afternoon, I seek out Raoul in the swarm of people, and he smiles at me gently. Together, we make our way down the path from the church while everyone cheers for us. At the edge of the path, where the burnished carriage is waiting for, he sweeps me off my feet and kisses me in front of everybody. He laughs, I laugh—everything is very gay and light. There is more cheering as he pushes me gently into the carriage. He darts in for another kiss and I blush appropriately as appreciative whoops fill the air.

I know exactly where we are going. It is his cousin's guesthouse, slightly removed from the city limits of Paris. His cousin is in Germany for several weeks, and graciously offered us the place to… explore each other.

His words, not mine.

In the carriage, I grow nervous. My silky dress makes my skin grow very warm. I watch Raoul's back and he continues to wave goodbye to the rest of his family, before hopping in beside me. The light romanticism of earlier is fading, and I do not want that.

He turns to me at once, and he looks a little sheepish. "That was fun, no?"

I nod.

He gives a brief chuckle before awkwardly clasping my hand in his own as the carriage starts to move. "This.. This place is not very far. Only a few minutes. It's very nice, very secluded. You'll love it."

I do not say anything, but I feel my face grow even warmer.

Perhaps Raoul really is just as nervous as I am, for he falls silent for the rest of the way, and my thoughts wander to everything I have heard about what is supposed to happen between a man and a woman.

When we arrive, he holds the door open for me. We are, in every sense, the model of a young and nervous newlywed couple. Completely innocent in the ways of the flesh, we are only counting upon each other to take the final steps to consummate our marriage. These final thoughts as a young virgin bang around my head with every step I make.

This isn't how I wanted it. I wanted everything to stay deliriously light and domestic, and this is going down a path I am not thrilled to take.

I begin to babble mindlessly, trying to throw off this dreadful surge of nervousness. "What a pretty little area this is in! Did you know, I never, ever left the opera, not even when it was nice out? Sometimes the ballerinas would all go to the café together, but not I, I always stayed indoors and would read a book or practice my music! So there is so much of Paris that I have never even ventured to—like all these trees! Why, I've never seen so many trees before? Have you? Raoul? Raoul?"

He takes my arm and carefully pulls his own arm around my waist to lead my up the small pathway. Panic overtakes my tongue and fall silent as he opens the front door and leads me in.

"I am nervous," I state blindly.

He only squeezes my shoulders in reply.

It is very cold inside. Raoul instantly rushes to go light the oven stove. Although I can still feel the chill through my many layers of white, I am beginning to sweat again.

Very carefully, he leads me upstairs. "Christine," he says in a very gentle voice. "I love you so much… My wife. This is not something to dread. "

I can barely smile at him, and although I am prepared for what is to happen next, I am not looking forward to it.

This is not how it should be.

He has been prepared as well, obviously… As he opens the door, the covers are pulled back. There is a faint scent of perfume lingering in the air. Dozens of soft pillows line the space between the bed and the wall.

My stomach turns over. I cannot decide if this is better or worse.

I wanted everything with Raoul to be blissfully sweet and light. This next, required step in our realtionship will go against everything I have hoped for us. This is something that adults do, and I do not want to be an adult with Raoul. I love him very much, and I am honored to be his wife... But I do not want this with him.

I do not wish to recollect the next few hours—the first few hours of my time as a married woman. All I can say is that it was very uncomfortable, and most certainly painful. We spoke often, interrupting each other, to request that the other stop, or move… We did not continue for very long, but eventually rested, both staring at opposite sides of the room. It was not what I had wanted, and yet, it was everything that it had needed to be.

It was not like the stories I had heard at the Opera. I did not one thing that the girls had often spoke of doing with their lovers. Raoul did not one thing that they had often spoke of their lovers doing to them. I did not _feel_ anything that I had been expecting to feel. What was it, then, that we had done?

It was awkward bumbling of two children.

And it was most definitely not love.

**.....**

**Please review? More to come soon!**

**This will be EC.... but it will be very strange EC, as you will find. Christine is a peculiar character in this story. You'll see. **


	2. The Betrayal

**Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad it sounds exciting, that was certainly my intention. **

**Please let me know what you think of Christine and this whole chapter!**

**.........**

Tonight, I am wrapped up in a silky, black gown that is far too formal for something as simple as an evening walk. It was intended to be for the dinner that Raoul and I were to have together, but he has not been feeling well all day.

"I am so sorry," he says to me, clutching my hand. I have taken ill with something small, I am sure. Just give me… a good night's rest…"

I shush him comfortingly, and pull the covers over his shivering body. "I could bring you something up?" I offer, but he shakes his head violently.

"No food…" he says, looking clammy in the light. "Christine, I am so sorry—"

"Stop it," I scold him, carefully kissing him on his forehead. "I want you to rest. I can eat by myself, and then I'll go for a walk on that trail you showed me Please do _not_ worry about me. Please."

He nods, and I rise slowly and leave him to his slumber.

I truly am not upset in any way. Of course, I am saddened that he is ill and disappointed that he will not be joining me for dinner, but what is a wife to do when her husband is ill? I have spent all day cooking the dinner for him, and basing it only around what he enjoyed—_I_ did not enjoy fish. In fact, I am a little pleased that now I would not have to eat it.

I throw most of my prepared meal away, and end up snacking on a few chips and crackers from our lunch. Really, I am only stalling. I am waiting for night to fall.

There is something I must do.

You see, I made two very important promises to two very different men only a few days ago. One was to Raoul, and that was to be his lawfully wedded wife. It was easy promise to make, and one that I did not intend to go back on. I am now his wife, and I will be forevermore.

There was one more promise I made, only a few days before my wedding. I returned, and perhaps I shouldn't have. But Erik asked for an invitation to the wedding, and I was not about to deny him anything.

"_I am so pleased you gave this to me. You have made me very happy. And promise me one thing, Christine…"_

"_Anything."_

"_Will you return… just one more time? After your wedding? I just want to see… I must know if you are happy."_

"_Of course, Erik… Of course."_

Impossible to disobey!

I want to see him again.

I miss him.

It is not difficult to leave the little guesthouse, for Raoul is sound asleep when I make my way out. I decide against calling for a carriage, and instead I peacefully walk the mile or so to the Opera. I did not change out of my black silk dress.

When I arrive, I go quickly through the entrance he has shown me, and I painstakingly make my way down the familiar path. I do not know what I am doing, but something in my heart tells me it is the right thing to do.

I do not know what I expect, but I picture him waiting for me in the front room, eagerly anticipating this as much as I. However, I knock and knock, and there is no answer.

Discouraged, but not deterred, I go around back where I know there is a secret entrance in the stone. I wiggle with it, being careful not to ruin my gown and wrap, before sliding it into place and hearing the welcoming click of… _home_.

Not much has changed as I step inside… except that it is cold. Very, very cold. I shiver and walk around the room, calling, "Erik?" as I did before.

How long did I wait for him? I cannot say, my mind was so full. Eventually, I cross over and pull a heavy quilt and sit on the divan, waiting for him… and then there is the sound of bells, and the door is opening.

He is tensed, and he is angry, looking for an intruder… When he catches sight of me, he freezes and watches me with wide eyes.

"Christine?" he says, as if he cannot believe it is really me.

I almost die at the sound of his voice, at the rush of familiar recognition pumping through my body.

"I came back," I whisper stupidly.

There is a pause.

He goes into motion then, closing the door and removing his jacket. He moves towards me gently, as if I am a wild animal he might scare off. "You…?" he says.

"I came back, for you," I say again, lifting my head to stare at him. "Like you wanted. After my… marriage."

His face grows dark. "Your marriage." he repeats.

Without thinking, without registering anything that has happened in the last ten seconds, I stretch out my hands eagerly and take his own. "How I've missed you!" I say impatiently. "How I've missed you!"

For a moment, he only stares down at me. "Why have come back?" he asks breathlessly.

I pause, confused. I thought that would be obvious. "I promised I would," I said blankly. "And I have missed you, and I had a chance, so I came…"

He kneels down next to me, our hands still clasped, and gently pushes my hair behind my ears. "My Christine," he says softly. "You have never broken your word to me."

"Never," I say proudly.

He only stares at me, and I can only stare back.

Everything fits in together here, like some giant jigsaw puzzle. I am happy with Raoul in the light, and I am happy with Erik in the dark. I knew I needed to return to be complete, but what will happen when I leave again?

"Then tell me," he says. "Are you happy?"

His voice is so masculine and lovely, and I smile at him. "Oh, yes."

He looks down instantly, and I am afraid I have said something wrong.

"I am happy for you, then," he mumbles, barely audible. I hesitate, and then I lift up his chin with my finger. His eyes widen again at our contact.

"You do not seem happy," I observe, and his eyes flash and duck down again.

"Of course I am happy for you," he says a bit stiffly. "How could I not be? When you are happy, I am happy." He waits for a moment, to be sure that I am not going to say anything. "And is your marriage… everything you thought it would be?"

Unexpectedly, I pull my hands away from him and look the other way. That was a personal question, and he is the one person I cannot lie to. I am afraid of looking at him now. I am afraid he will make me tell him the truth.

"Christine?" Erik probes, his long fingers wrapping around my arm and shoulder, forcing my body to turn towards him. "Why do you turn away from me?"

"I am not a good wife…" I mutter.

He stops and tilts his head. "How are you not a good wife?" he says quizzically. "You are everything… everything a man could want in a wife."

I blush, I cannot help it, and I feel as though the involuntary heat in my cheeks is a betrayal of Raoul.

"Everything with Raoul is happy," I say slowly. "We eat together, we laugh together, we go for walks every night. But… it's difficult for me…" I hesitate, the rest of my body growing warmer to match my face. "I mean, we are young… And I am very nervous about… the bedroom…" I trail off pathetically.

Erik's yellow eyes have not moved from me. "That is common," he says brusquely. "You are young, and you will learn."

I hate to hear him talk about such things in reference to me. As if he has any more experience that I had…!

"It isn't exactly how I thought it would be," I muse, more to myself than him.

His face flickers with emotion, and then settles on looking disgruntled. "You know, my darling, this is not something that you need to share with me."

Something inside of me bursts, a dreadful conclusion I had reached within myself not long after my fairy-tale wedding. "But it is! Because you're the only one who can understand! It's not what I wanted! It's not _passion!_ One week of marriage, and we've done it twice. Twice! Because I can't stand it, and he is so humiliated when I ask him to stop, and we can't enjoy it and I have no idea what to do!"

I clutch at him and he wraps his arms around me while I choke into his shoulder.

"You simply do not know what to expect," he says calmly, although I sense he is hiding something.

"I don't feel anything," I say flatly.

"You will."

"How would _you_ know?" I accuse, pulling back from him. "How many times have you pleasured a woman?"

His lip curls in defense. "I am much older than you and your husband, Christine. Deeds do not have to actually be performed for one to grasp the understanding of an action. I have felt lust, I daresay, more times that _you_ have, my little songbird."

I want to be angry at him, for a stirs a gentle part of my soul. It is exciting in ways I do not understand… "I do not _want_ Raoul to pleasure me. It feels sinful."

"It is a part of marriage."

"I don't like it. It ruins everything between us."

"You should have thought of this before you married him."

"Then what else was I to do?" I snap back. "Marry _you_? What would you do any differently…?" I drag my sentence off, and he is watching me with a sharp eye.

"Christine?" he says, and his voice is incredibly tight.

I shrug and try to look away, ignoring the pounding of my heart. "I have performed love scenes in opera. I know what passion is. And the only one who every brought it out in me… is you."

"Christine, you have to leave."

"Erik…"

He stands, pulling me upright. "I said, go!" As he does so, the quilt I had curled up to me falls from my body, exposing my black evening gown. His eyes drop to it nervously, and his defenses relax for the briefest of seconds.

"If you send me away," I say bravely, although my voice is wavering. "I will come back."

His hands drop from my arm to my waist, so he can touch the silky material. "How beautiful you are," he murmurs unwillingly.

I feel it then, that flash when he touches me, and I nearly jump in shock.

"There!" I yell, and he recoils back, his eyes looking furtive and guilty. "Erik… teach me… Teach me passion…"

His eyes are crazy, uncontrollable. "Have you lost your mind?" he whispers to me.

I step forward, laying my hands on his chest, before pushing my lips up against his, as I have done once before.

The effect is immediate, and I love it. _This_ is where passion belongs—down here in the dark, in secret and in silence, not up in my marriage. Why should marriage be so ruined by something like this? This is to be shared with a lover, with someone who incites the sin within you. I do not want to share this sin with my husband. I do not want to taint him in that way.

Erik's mouth clamps down on mine, and I know that if I press forward, he will not resist me. This is a sin… but it is beautiful.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I know I have not planned this. I did not come down here with a scenario in mind, or with any sort of structure of a seduction. All I wanted was to see if I could find that missing element in my split world of light and dark—I have the light. Now I _need_ the dark.

"Christine," he whispers, pulling away. "I cannot… I will not do this to you. You are young and confused… You must go back…"

I shush him, just like I shushed my ill husband at home. "I need you," I say back to him, and I gently nip at his lips with my own while stepping backwards… backwards… towards the bedroom.

"No, no, oh God, no," he protests, but he follows me. His hands touch every silken inch of my black gown, then lift up my hair as he presses his face against my neck. I lean back as the bed approaches so that he is hovering over me, his eyes terribly unsure.

I am frightened, but I am no longer a virgin, at least. I know the physical act now, I know the motions and the design… Now all I need is that little spur of energy to make is _more _than just a physical act. I must do this… for my marriage.

"Christine?" he says one last time, and his voice has gone deliriously weak with desire. It makes me shiver in anticipation. I stretch out my arms to him, my body begging for his pressure on top of me, within me. It is like the music I sing, where the two lovers are lost in themselves, their hearts crying out with love…

_Lovers._

Raoul will be my husband.

I make up my mind in a split second, as Erik's mouth comes once again to mine, and I stretch my hands through his hair, my adrenaline racing throughout my blood—

—Erik will be my lover.

_Balance._

**.......**

**I think I'm going to keep it 'T' for now, but let me know if you want it 'M'. That would give me a bit more freedom with the love scenes, but I think I can still do them in a 'T' rating! **


	3. The Aftermath

**I'm so glad everyone is being nice to me. **

**What do you think of Christine?**

**.........**

I awake to far too many noises. Raoul is never this loud in the morning; he is always still sleeping when I arise. Rolling over a little, feeling as if I have not gotten enough sleep, I manage to open one eye to see above me.

Erik is pacing right next to the bed, fully clothed and mask in place. He is saying what sounds a lot like a prayer, mixed in with profanity.

Everything comes back in a flash.

I sit up, clutching the covers to my chest. Erik stops suddenly, fixing his gaze upon me. His stare is a hard combination to absorb in my frantic state, a paradox of fire and ice.

We stare at each other for the longest time. I watch as his mouth slowly releases the angry line, his posture relaxes, and his eyes only reflect dry horror.

"What have I done?" he whispers.

I feel surreal, like last night was some sort of dream that I could hardly remember. I reach my hands towards him, and to my surprise, he comes on the bed to sit next to me. Before I can say anything, he has looked clinically into my eyes, then groped for my wrist.

"Erik?" I say uncertainly.

"Were you drunk?" he asked blackly. "Were you intoxicated? Were you threatened? Tell me!"

"N-no, Erik."

"What happened? Why did you come down here?"

I pause, afraid. "I missed you…"

He releases my wrists.

"What have I done?" he moans again, and drops his head into his hands.

Panic and confusion bursts into my stomach at his words, and I try to wriggle out of the covers to sit up. "What time is it?" I ask breathlessly. "What time is it?"

"It's still night," he tells me, his lovely voice muffled by his own hands. "It's not yet morning."

A little of my panic subsides, and I release the breath I have been holding in.

"Christine," he says, his voice laced with angst and disgust. "_What happened?"_

"I—" my voice cracks out, but I can manage no further. Memories from last night press into my mind, and I did not stop them from overflowing my sense, causing me guilt for what I had done. My mouth falls open in disbelief and my hand trembles. "My God…"

We sit together, absorbing our sin.

I touch his arm hesitatingly. "Erik, I never meant—"

He rips himself away. "You never meant for what? For this to happen? It was an accident? It wasn't what you wanted? You just got _carried away_? Or are you going to say that _I_ got carried away? Are you going to run back to your husband and tell him I took advantage of you? Oh God—" he choked. "—your _husband_—"

I begin to cry, my emotions going haywire. I did not want to be an adulterer one week into my marriage; I did not want to be a whore. I did not come down here with the intention of seducing Erik.

How could I explain it? Suddenly, it had felt right. I couldn't stop. I w_anted_ to share myself with him. I wanted to feel his skin against mine, I wanted his mouth on me, I wanted to make his breath catch.

I clawed at my face in shame. I w_as_ a whore!

"Why?" he stammered. "You love Raoul… Why did you do that to me?"

"I can't just explain it!" I cried out, my face burning, my heart racing. "I swear, I came down just to see you, and I felt loved! And I just wanted more… I just felt really loved, for once, Erik! Is that so very wrong to want?"

He looked stonily in the opposite direction while I cried next to him.

Last night had been a whirlwind. Perhaps, if we had only paused, just once… we would have come to our senses.

"Your husband loves you," he said stiffly.

"I know," I murmured. "I love him too… but I was more comfortable with him before we were married. Now I feel…" I swallow convulsively. "It just feels silly…"

"Making love is something you do when you're married!" he snapped. "If you didn't want to do it, you shouldn't have been married!"

"You're right," I say softly.

He doesn't know what to make of that, and seems at a brief loss of words.

"Listen to me," I plead, taking advantage of his silence. "I'm fine with Raoul. I like being married to him." Erik turns farther away from me squeezing his eyes shut. "But everything changes at night. Night isn't supposed to be all light and happy. Nighttime is supposed to be beautiful—_you_ taught me that."

Still quiet, he turns to look at me, like he cannot keep his eyes off me for too long.

"I thought you would understand," I whisper.

He drops his hand. "Oh, Christine," he says softly. "You are so young, you are innocent, you do not understand… This is so wrong…" His eyes fill with an emotion I cannot understand, and he gently uncurls my fingers from the bedcovers. "So wrong." Without moving from the bed, he lays his lips on mine, a simple expression of physical love. There is certain air between us that makes me breathe into him, filling my chest with a warm feeling as I part my lips in contentment.

I can hardly bring myself to speak, but I eventually say in a tiny voice, "I must go back."

He pulls away, clutching my wrist, and for a moment I think he is not going to let me leave.

But then he relaxes and releases me. "Yes, of course," he murmurs. "You must go."

I do not budge.

My heart is breaking. I fell like there is two halves of me I am trying to reconcile into one being. It's painful, and I'm so confused. How can I possibly leave him again like this, so suddenly? We endured oceans of hurt, only for me to come down here, use him, and then leave again…

I am blinded with uncertain tears and the desperate need to make him understand. "Erik, you make it sound like you think I just used you—"

"You did!" he interrupts. "You did! You used me because you _knew_ I would want you, no matter what—if even if you were married! You used me when you lacked the passion you craved with your husband."

"No," I say honestly. "I came back because I care for you."

"I thought I could have everything," he says mournfully, deliberately continuing as if he hadn't heard me. "You could have given everything to me, but instead you left, you left… and now you come back to give me everything, only to take it away again."

"Erik—"

"I will never learn."

"Erik, please—"

He silences me with the misery in his dark, golden eyes.

"As I said last night," he said quietly. "I would take it again. One night of heaven, just to feel loved. Even if it was fake."

"It was not fake!" I burst out, but he is past listening to me, I can tell. Instead, I rise and place my hand under his chin. "I will come back," I promise in a hushed voice.

He laughs. "Yes, by all means, come back here only to fulfill your young sexual appetite! And I, like a fool, will fall for them every time. And I will. Every damn time." He sighs, and his voice grows heavy. "I will fall for you every time. You should go now."

I climb awkwardly out of bed in my underclothes. The black wrinkly dress sits innocently in a pile on the floor, and I snatch it up and pull it on, watching him nervously out of the corner of my eye. I grow flustered, unable to pull the dress on properly, and I struggle with it for a moment before he sighs again and comes to help me. His hands linger on my skin, his breath tickling my neck. I shiver as he stares longingly at me.

"I love you," he says hoarsely. "Nothing can change that."

It is impossible to look away from those eyes.

"I will come back," I repeat.

Nearly a half hour later, the sun is just beginning to rise. I carefully open the door to the summer house, being as quiet as possible as I go to my closet and pull down a soft green dressing gown. I take off the black dress and throw it into the corner—I never want to see it again.

The dressing gown safely on, I gently pad upstairs. Raoul is sleeping, but his eyes flutter open as I try to close the door.

"Christine," he says groggily, sitting up. His chestnut hair is tousled and I smile at the image. "I called for you, but you never answered last night. You could have come up here… Did you get sleep?"

"I slept downstairs. I didn't want to disturb you," I say, lightly patting his shoulders and kissing his forehead. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, I'll come down for breakfast." He sits up. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened. Perhaps it was something I ate?"

"It is still early," I say. "You can stay in bed for a while longer, and then I'd be happy to bring you something up."

"No, no," he protests. "I want to come down to be with you. Let me dress."

"I'll go down and start some porridge," I offer, turning to leave.

He grabs my sleeve as I turn. "Christine," he says. "You are such a good wife." He smiles. "You are lovely when you are taking care of me. I love you so much."

I glance up at the sun sparkling weakly through the window. It is a new day. A new, bright day to be loved by my husband.

I smile warmly at him. "I do too, Raoul." I say sweetly. "Always."


	4. The Confusion

**I am glad people are liking this. One point I would like to make... Please understand throughout this story how very immature and young Christine really is. Before you judge her too harshly, try to envision these events through your own eyes when you were perhaps 14 or 15(which is where I feel Christine's current maturity lies). Being married now, she will have to grow up much quicker and we will have to see that change. But can't you see how Erik might complicate things?**

**This is still an EC, for those of you who are not big Raoul-fans. We're just getting started!!!!**

**Thanks, and review! Everyone's reviews have been super helpful, and let's me know what you think of the situation.**

**....**

I think Raoul must still be feeling ill, for he still rests throughout the day and falls asleep early in the evening on the mall sofa in the den. I drag him upstairs while he stumbles in front of me, and place him comfortably in bed. We snuggle as he dozes, and I too finally fall asleep. It is peaceful and sweet.

In the morning, we wake together and play innocently in bed. He tickles me, I push him away, and we giggle a lot before going down to eat muffins for breakfast.

That night, however, he takes me into the study where there is an old phonoautogram. "I want you to dance with me," he says passionately.

Anticipation—or dread?—curls inside my stomach. My hair is not up and I am not even wearing a pretty gown… Why does he want to dance with me?

"I'm not a very good dancer." I say stupidly.

Raoul grins at me. "Look how serious you are. Come, my little ballerina. Show me all your finest moves. It is music for you."

I do not want Raoul's music.

"I don't want to dance," I say blankly. "Not—not with music."

He hesitates, but his reply has no hint of irritation. "No music. That is fine. I understand. Will you still dance with me?"

He is asking so nicely and he is so handsome in his dark blue buttoned shirt. The dim light from the kitchen reflects in his eyes. I am so in love with the way he looks at me, with the way he is so very kind to me. Not many people were kind to me after Papa died. I would be a horrible person if I turned my husband down for a dance.

We mostly sway together in the small room, the lack of music providing us with no common tempo. It is slow… I try to imagine we are at our wedding, where everything was laughter and happiness, and people were smiling and Raoul was smiling… Now he is not smiling, and he is close to me, and his lips keep pressing on my face, and I can't breathe…

I think he is trying to be romantic as he pulls on my dress to lead me upstairs. I cannot tell, because there is no light. I am stumbling blindly in the dark. As I am exposed, I tremble.

"I'm cold," I whisper.

Instantly, he is over me, his hands in my hair. "I'll warm you," he says, and he is everywhere, above me, around me, inside me…

It is not quite as uncomfortable anymore, only rather boring. I thought it would be much more exciting. I thought it would be life-altering. That is what the girls at the Opera always said. I thought it would make me feel wonderful. But all I feel is guilt. This is naughty, naughty, naughty, and I should not be doing this with my good husband…

He kisses my eyelids so lovingly. I try to smile at him, but it feels so incredibly dramatic. I am no one. I feel like no one, and I do not know why. I do not feel special or loved, or like I am the only woman in the world. There are millions of women in the world, and are they all doing this with their husbands? How do they look at them the same in the morning? How do they meet the eyes of other people? How does this love work?

Prying his sticky skin away from me, I turn and wonder if I am perhaps just too young and immature to appreciate it. Maybe I was not ready for marriage if the mere thought of marital relations makes me blush and gag.

He softly brushes my hair back. "You are so quiet," he says. "I try…"

I do not want to talk about such things with Raoul."No, no," I say, with abosolutely no idea what I am denying. "I am just trying to relax."

"I don't want to relax," he says, and he presses his wet lips to my ear. It makes a funny sucking sound.

"But I understand," he continues. "You are young, and a new bride. I love you so much. And we can learn together."

I feel that maybe I should put my arms around him, but I don't know where to touch. Where do you touch a naked man?

In the back of my mind, I am thinking that not all love is like this. There _is_ love like the love woven into the chords of the opera I know so well. There are those feelings that the girls at the Opera always whispered about. And it feels too good… it must be too bad.

But _he _has never been deterred by doing anything that is considered wrong. _He_ would gladly partake in anything I asked of him.

In the back of my mind, I know I cannot—_should _not—compare.

Erik's lips are thinner than Raoul's, and even though Raoul's are unfailingly gentle until the end, Erik's were feather light and travelled, skimming my skin and making me tingle. Raoul was thicker in the shoulders and in the waist, but it is soft and almost heavy; Erik is so thin and so hard, so tense against every inch of my body surface.

And with Erik, his hands had coaxed me to a sensation that was terrifying and exciting—he had done things that would make me blush in the light. But we didn't need the light. And where Raoul is perfectly content to be patient through the years and learn together, Erik was desperate—driven to the point of physical starvation and need from years of no human contact, and months and months of desiring me like no other—the frenzy had been exhilarating.

Raoul is massaging my back, and it feels nice, but I am still cold. He makes no comment as I rise and put on my nightclothes.

-

**I'm just adding that I really should give bwayphantomrose more credit. She is basically writing this story. I am just telling her my ideas, and she figures out how to make it sound pretty on paper. Actually, she's writing it more than I am. So credit to her. Kudos.**


	5. The Return

**Poor Christine has really dug herself into a hole here. **

**.........**

It takes three nights before I really miss him.

It isn't something you think about. It's just something that you do without conscious thought, something you do on instinct. It just happens.

"Raoul," I say sweetly one night. "We are out of jam."

His expression is surprised. "Really?" he says. "I'm sorry, my pet, I thought we had a full jar a few days ago."

"Yes, well…" I say, looking at my hands. "You know I like to have it for breakfast…"

He instantly leaps to his feet. "Not to worry, I'll go and get some at once."

I let out an odd sort of giggle. "I can go and get some myself, silly."

He shakes his head, already going into the front hall to get his jacket. "No, of course not. What kind of husband would I be? I will fetch it for you in town and be back before you are asleep."

"But… I might want a new flavor. I don't know what flavor I want. I'll have to see them all."

He gives me a kind smile. "I'll buy one of each."

I follow him into the hallway. "Really, Raoul, I can go."

"Nonsense. You stay here."

"But, I didn't mean that you had to go for me—"

"I w_ant_ to go, Christine—"

"I want to go!" I yell, like a temperamental child. "Please Raoul, let me go myself!"

He looks at me as though I have gone crazy. "I—Well, if you—if you insist!" he stutters, and he looks at me in confusions as I go to retrieve my own coat. "But Christine, you cannot possibly think I mind going for you…"

"I just want to get out for a little bit," I say, trying to take my voice down. I am embarrassed by my outburst. "Just to go for a walk, by myself. Just to breathe a little. Hmm?"

"Must be a 'woman' moment," Raoul says, trying to smile. He looks me up and down. "Be careful, then. Be very, very careful."

"Of course," I say. I hesitate, then I go and peck him lightly on the lips. "I'll be back before you are asleep."

He smiles. "I will wait up."

I can tell he is watching me as I make my way down the long path. Even when I am past the long view of the summer house, I do not turn around. Halfway into the city, I break into a run.

I feel like everyone is staring at me, watching me… They know what I am doing. Then know where I am going.

I stop in the Opera Lobby to comb my fingers through my hair. My face is flushed, my dress is wrinkled; there is nothing to be done for it.

Before anyone can see me, I am down in the secret passageways… I am running, running, until I am going under the secret ways and in front of the front door. I raise my hand to knock, before I change my mind and just turn the handle.

The familiar air hits me hard, and I stand there for a moment just absorbing, before I notice Erik sitting on the little couch. He looks almost as if he is expecting me.

He looks up at me at the same moment I say, "I told you I would come back."

I fling myself at him with a force I didn't know I had. He is half-risen as he catches me and presses his face into my hair as he clings to me.

"Christine, Christine?" he says. "I was so sure it was a dream…"

I touch the inside of his jacket. "It was real," I whisper.

"No," he says, and his grip grows tighter—painfully tight. "No, you are not here… You are not real!"

"I am!" I plead, and I do not bother to wrestle from him grip, even though he is hurting me. "Erik, please! I missed you…"

He lets go of me, stepping backwards. He seems at a loss for words, and I slowly reach out to remove his mask. His expression beneath is one of confusion.

"You missed me?" he repeats, perplexed.

"Of course. I always knew I would. And I came back… And now I am back again."

He suddenly backs away from me. "For what?" he says. "For what? Why did you come?"

"I miss—"

"Missed _what_?" he demands.

"Missed _you_!" I burst out. "Missed how you are, and how you talk to me, how you hold me, how you make me feel so important… I came back here, and this is how you treat me? Maybe I should go!"

It is such an empty threat—I know I cannot leave so soon, but it seems to work, and he grabs me possessively.

I cling back onto him, so thankful that he stopped me. So he does still care for me, even after all I have done to him.

"Look how flushed you are," he murmurs. "Did you run here?"

I nod.

"Christine," he says into my hair. "I can breathe when you're around."

I nuzzle into him, and I can breathe too. I inhale, and I can smell him, can taste him with my senses.

"Why do you come back?" he asks, and his voice is sharper now. "Why? When Raoul is at home waiting for you?" He takes a deep breath; I can feel the rise of his chest. "Never mind. I do not…I do not care. You're here. That's all that matters."

I feel like I'm going to cry, and I try to stop the tears. I think about Raoul, waiting for me at home… then I brush him from my mind. My husband is not involved in any of this. This is my own business.

Mine and Erik's.

I fall into him as I lean up, and his lips close over mind naturally. His whole scent and atmosphere fills me with this terrible darkness, this urge for the hidden secrets that no decent people speak of. I explore a little, moving my hands up to his chest and neck as I flutter my breath into his mouth.

He pulls back again. "God! It's not like I can even try to stop you!" Erik looks up, as if praying for strength, and then back to me. "Look at you! Looking at me as if I am actually appealing—as if I am more handsome than your Raoul!"

"It's not about looks to me," I say.

"Then what is it?" he says in despair.

"It's just you," I say, shaking my head. "Erik, you make me feel loved."

"You are loved," he says softly.

"You make me warm. I just feel… different with you."

His eyes are burning. "I want you." he says flatly. "I love you, and I want you. You are so fascinating in the dark."

I cannot believe I am saying this. I cannot believe that I could ever say this to anybody, but Erik is Erik. "I want you. I want you to want me. I want to _make_ you want me."

"You don't have to try very hard," he says gruffly, but as I reach towards him again, he leaps back again.

"This is crazy!" he says, putting his hands on his head. "This cannot happen! This—There's too many things—No! It's can't. Pregnancy! What if you became pregnant? What if you are caught. Raoul. Raoul! Does he know where you are?"

"I told him I was going to the market," I say warily.

"Oh, Christine," he moans, falling back onto the couch. "You _lied.._"

Such a column of fear hits me that my heart stops and my stomach burns. "No! Don't be angry, don't be disgusted with me! You can't be—You have to love me! You understand, you have to understand!" I go towards him in a panic, my arms held out. "You're the only one who understands!"

He grabs me as I drop into him, and he presses his lips against mine as I wrap my arms around his neck.

"The consequences—" he starts to say against my mouth, but I pull the drawstring of the back of my simple dress, letting it fall to reveal my underclothes. He meets my eyes once, and I know there is no stopping us now. We once again spiraled into our own trap—much more willingly this time.

"Never mind," he says, and I throw my arms around him.


	6. The Continuation

**:-)**

**............**

"Christine, you have to go," says a voice, prodding me gently with one long finger.

I roll over and ignore him.

"Come, Christine. You have to go."

"A few more minutes," I say, keeping my eyes closed.

Two hands roughly turn me over and my eyes fly open in shock. "No," Erik growls. "You leave now. You told him you were going for a walk. Nearly three hours is going to make his suspicious. It is already dark out."

I sigh and search for my dress. "He doesn't mind. I left him dinner this time."

"Christine," he says reproachfully.

Nearly four weeks into my marriage, I am sneaking out every few days to further my relationship with Erik. The more it happens, the less guilty I feel—It is something natural that happens between us. I am glad I have Erik to do this with, for it would just be too humiliating to do this with Raoul.

"I'll come back soon," I promise, kissing his lips lightly before I head for the door.

"I know," he says heavily, as I close it behind me.

It _is_ much darker than I expected, and I hurry home with a little hesitancy in my step as I try to formulate a better explanation.

Raoul is waiting in the front room; I can see the ripple his shadow makes through the sheer curtains. I plaster a smile on my face as he swings open the front door for me.

"I was getting worried!" he bursts out at once, his eyes traveling up and down my figure as if to make sure I am whole and unscathed. "I would have had to come out there after you."

"I met some old friends outside of the Opera," I say dreamily. "Then I had to walk all the way back. It grew dark so quickly."

"You must be more careful," Raoul scolds, helping me inside.

I grow impatient with his overprotective attitude. I am not a child. "I can walk by myself," I snap at him. "Just because we are married does not mean I cannot continue to do things by myself. I have always been by myself. And it's alright! It's alright to be by yourself every now and then!"

I can feel him staring at me as I hang up my shawl and prowl into the kitchen.

"I left you some fruit," I hear him say very quietly.

Once alone again, with Raoul unable to question me, I calm down and wait for a while before I go on up to get ready for bed. He is reading one of his heavy books, his legs on top of the covers.

"Raoul," I saw, crawling next to him and kissing his cheek. His face is scratchy, and it scrapes the side of my face. "I did not mean to worry you."

"Well, you did," he says emotionlessly.

"I am so sorry. Next time, you can come with me. We'll go for a nice long walk."

He seems to struggle for a moment. "That sounds absolutely lovely. But—are you sure? I thought you wanted to be by yourself."

"Oh Raoul," I sigh. "You just have to understand… I am so _used_ to being by myself. But that's why it makes me so happy that I am with you now. I love you. You are such a good husband… so understanding…"

He lets me kiss him again, and then he says, "You know, it is almost time for us to get a place of our own. We cannot stay here forever."

I crawl under the covers and snuggle against his shoulder. "Where will we go?"

He sets down his book, eager to talk now. "Well, I have a place for us… I inherited it; it has just been sitting there for so long… It's far out by the memorial, on the other side of the city. But it's beautiful, Christine. We'll have to go visit it, and see if you like it."

A dull, expressionless feeling is overtaking my midriff. "The other side of the city?" I repeat faintly.

He is aware of my discomfort at once. "What is it?"

_The other side of the city._

"We'll be so far away from the Opera," I whisper in horror.

He looks back at me, his expression mirrored. "I did not even think of that," he says. "I wasn't even thinking… I'm so sorry, Christine…"

He strokes my hair a little as I sit there in shock.

"But it means nothing, Christine," he suddenly says eagerly. "I would travel across the world for you. You know, I enjoy opera just as much as you do… I was raised in the arts. We'll get season tickets, and a nice fancy box. We can go every week, if you want. How does that sound?"

I perk up a little at that. "Every week?" I ask curiously.

"Every week," he says earnestly. "We shall have the best seats in the house!"

I mull over this new information for a moment in silence, weighing my several options. "That sounds wonderful," I announce eventually, relaxing into my pillow and looking over at him much more fondly. "Where are the best seats in the house?"

He gives me a patronizing look, as if I should know better. "Why, the fourth row, of course. The first few rows are much too close, you can never see the whole stage. And anything farther back, why you cannot see anyone's lovely face. So the fourth row is perfect. Exquisite! And we'll have the family box, of course."

"When do we leave?"

He smiles at me. "Whenever you're ready."

I think about this for a moment. "One more week here?" I ask.

"One more week," Raoul says resolutely. He winks at me, and then begins to read his book again.

"Raoul?" I say shyly, and I kiss the side of his face again. I pull the book very carefully out of his hands. "You are so dear to me…"

"To me as well," he murmurs quietly as I kiss him again. "Are we…?"

I let him run his hands over me. I even let him take my dress off. And he seems to enjoy it, and I think about going to the Opera every week, and I am happy.

**.....**

**Just wanted to give more credit to bwayphantomrose and to my other best mentor, Lilly (who is not a member of this site, but should be) because they are both a lot smarter than me and they gave me a plot to work with. **


	7. The Hesitation

**...........**

I never thought I would be _that woman._

That woman who could make love with another and then go back, smiling, to her husband. That woman who crept out of the house and walked halfway across town to seek solace in the arms of another. That woman who actually snuck away during intermission to find passion with a different man.

But I am.

Once home, away from our honeymoon house, Raoul resumed his normal work, which involves, as far as I can tell, him writing long letters to various estates to convince them to donate charity to a de Chagny patronage—the Opera, for example. He says this is difficult because there are so many patrons of the Opera, and there must be something that the de Chagny's display that will catch their attention. The letters he writes to entice them are full or charm and wit. He lets me read them, asking for a 'woman's touch', and I giggle every time.

He tries so very hard to spend most of his time with me, and all I really want him to do is lock himself alone in his study at night so I can make my escape. Does this make me a bad person? I do love Raoul in the day time. It is just that at nighttime, I immediately feel uncomfrtoable, dreading what I fear is to happen. Just as I feel unhappy with Erik in the light, so I feel unhappy with Raoul in the dark.

We go to the Opera every week. Every week, I am so close. I must watch the show, even though my mind is completely elsewhere.

Erik does not like these Opera meetings, because they are short and hurried. He seems to grow more and more agitated with me each time, and I have only little ways to soothe him, and they are generally not very effective.

"Three monehts," he says bitterly to me one time. "How long do you plan to keep this up?"

I have just run to him as soon as the curtain closed between the acts. I do not want to waste much time talking. "What do you mean?" I ask him, slipping the buttons off my dress.

His hand gently stops me. "This cannot contie like this."

"Why not?" I say dumbly.

His eyes flash. "Because this is not right!"

"And when have you suddenly decided to stat caring about what is _right_?" I scoff.

"Since it concerns you!" he says irritably. Despite his arguments, he is coming closer to me and I hold out my arms. "Why did you marry him? Tell me why!"

"Because I love him," I say, and he tries to draw away from me, but I hold tight. "Oh, I love you too. But in a different way. I need to be Raoul's wife up in the real world. That is just how it has to be. But I belong with you down here, you know that."

"I want you all the time," he moans.

"Well, I am here as much I can get—"

"No, not like that. I want you, as my wife and as a my lover."

I stare at him blankly. "No, that cannot be. It just ist's feasible, Erik!"

"It is for everybody else!" he bellows, and I look around hastily, afraid someone might hear us. "Do you think I am not soutable as a husband?"

"You are _not_!" I hiss. "You cannot take me out, you cannot be a fine gentlemen who dotes upon me, you cannot be that type of man who lives for the woman on his arm! You are different, and that's just how it is! You are dark, and I am dark when I am with you, but when I am with Raoul, I have to be light and I have to be his wife. I do not love him more than you, I love him differently." This is an argument I feel we have every time.

"I want to call you wife," he rasps.

"I am more than that to you," I say stoutly.

He is pouting now.

I extend my arms to him again. "Darling," I say soothingly. "Have I displeased you?"

He is forced to hear the meaning in the most basic sense. "No," he grumbles, afraid to offend me.

"Do you wish me to go away and never return?"

His grip on me involuntarily tightens. "No, of course not," he murmuers. I kiss the side of his neck, not wanting to chamr him like I do Raoul. I want to seduce him, I want to lose control with him… All those naughty little things that you should not do to your husband… Why are we still wasting time talking?

"You just don't understand, Christine," he sighs. "Did no one explain to you that you _must_ do these things with your husband? Everyone else does."

I blush. I do not want to think of all married people like that! How can they show their faces if they do such vile things to each other? Raoul and I are protecting ourselves. A married man and woman should only couple when the are attempting to produce a family. It is not a way of pleasure. Only lovers spoke of pleasure.

"How would you feel," he suddenly declares, "If you found out Raoul was doing this was another girl?"

I blink, and glare at him. "He is not. He only wants me."

"And do you let him have you?"

I am silent for a long moment. Long enough for Erik to suddenly start touching my arms gently, coaxing me further into him. I know I do not need to keep talking for much longer, and I am grateful for this.

"I avoid intimacies with him as much as I am able," I finally say softly.

He gives a low, dark chuckle. "Ah, husband indeed!" he cries.

That is the end of our conversation.

I arrive back to my seat just a moment after the next act begins. Raoul is waiting for me. I go and sit next to him, and I hold his hand.


End file.
